Cat picture time

Allow me to introduce the latest member of the Goat Rope Farm menagerie, a one-eyed stray female kitten named Willie (actually  her full name One Eyed Willie after the pirate in the movie Goonies).

Willie came into our life almost immediately after a certain person with whom I have a spousal connection issued a ruling that went something like "No more cats!"

It was her idea...

The missing eye hasn't slowed her down. Willie is a holy terror around the house. Our much larger dogs and older cat are traumatized by her ceaseless kitty rages.

It reminds me of a positive and comforting fact: when properly concentrated, a small force can overcome much larger opponents.

At least there's this

OK, so the world may be going to hell in a hand-basket but it's not all bad. Researchers in Australia have recently discovered a new species of marsupial lion. Apparently it was about the size of a dog and weighed in at 23 kilograms, which for metric system hating freedom lovers is around 51 pounds.

I've often wondered how big our cat Wu would have to be for us to be in danger here at Goat Rope Farm. I think I'd start getting nervous at around 40 pounds.

A call to replace. And a gratuitous animal picture

I wish I could link a new story from Politico, but it's limited to paid subscribers of which I ain't one. The gist of it is that there's growing consensus among governors that the Affordable Care Act shouldn't be repealed until it is replaced. That's encouraging. I hope congress listens.

Meanwhile, my dog Bo and I attended a rally yesterday outside the offices of WV's Republican Senator Shelley Moore Capito urging the same. We were a little disappointed Bo's picture didn't make the paper so I'm including this one, which shows his standard way of requesting a walk in the morning while I'm trying to drink coffee and read.

This fight will require dogged persistence.

Restraining hands... or paws

Since the passing of Arpad the Magnificent this summer (pictured above), predators have already started moving in. A couple nights ago, we were awakened when an unknown critter attacked Pearl, our aging peahen. Last night she disappeared. This would have been unthinkable in Arpad's heyday.

It makes me think that all our lives would be a lot less safe without the often unseen restraining hands (or paws) of those who, without fanfare, keep things from being as bad as they could be.

I've more than once quoted the last lines of George Eliot's (Mary Anne Evans) Middlemarch here:

"...the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."

(Note: not all of the good guys who faithfully lived a hidden life were as glorious or beautiful as Arpad. They probably didn't bark as much at night either. Come to think of it, I visited Arpad's tomb tonight and poured him a libation of goat milk. But the point remains I think.)

OFF TOPIC. Here's a final digression of grieving for a dog. After he died, I dreamed that I climbed a mountain and looked down. There was Arpad and some other dogs I knew who had passed running around and having a great time. I tried to climb over the mountain to them but it was too steep and I couldn't cross the line.

I think that may have been a classic Freudian albeit nonsexual wish fulfillment dream of good dogs living forever. I wish it was real. Or that, in the Buddhist spirit, Arpad had been reborn in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha, where he could work towards ultimate Nirvana under the most favorable circumstances. Or that I could ever be as cool as he was.

Elegy or requiem?

An unexpected big hit in the book world has been J.R. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis, which is both a personal memoir and an attempt at diagnosing Appalachian ills. I think it succeeds very well in the former but not so much in the latter. The book was the subject of the latest Front Porch program/podcast. You can listen here. It's also on the menu in the latest Inside Appalachia.

Finally, thanks for the condolences from may people on the passing of Arpad the Magnificent. There's a big hole on the farm where a big white dog isn't.

Good night, sweet prince!

It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Arpad the Great, the Great Pyrenees security chief of Goat Rope Farm. We enjoyed him for 8 years. He died of an apparent heart attack in his sleep while fighting off a persistent infection.

He had the great combination of being protective but non-aggressive and he was loved by those who knew him as a genial goof. He also enjoyed dragging deer carcases into the yard for a little snack.

It won't be the same place without him. May he be reborn in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha where he can work towards final liberation under the most favorable circumstances.

As Horatio said in Hamlet, "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

Another road not taken

The latest Front Porch features an interview with Gazette-Mail reporter and Coal Tattoo blogger Ken Ward on WV's neglected plan to deal with flooding.

On a more positive note, here's something from the UK Guardian about research that suggests goats want to form social relationships with humans. Whatever. The real deal is that they think we are stupid waiters who get their orders wrong.

In lieu of words

The Dude enjoys a spring day.

What is "updog"?

If these guys know, they're not saying. (Photo credit Spousal Unit.)

Calmer than you are

Somebody likes this weather anyhow. Arpad, security chief at Goat Rope Farm, is something of a snow bunny. (Photo credit: Spousal Unit)

Gratuitous animal picture

It's been a while since I went there, but this one of Arpad wearing a tiara is just too good to pass on. Some of us wear them better than others. (Photo credit: the Spousal Unit)

Suffix space available

This blog was once known for its steady stream of gratuitous animal pictures, a practice that has largely fallen by the wayside. To partially remedy that situation, allow me to introduce the latest piece of exercise equipment to be added to our menageria, a rescued boxer pup named Bo.

The good thing about such a name is the almost infinite variations. Some of my favorites are Botox, Bolo, Bogusziti, Beauregard, Beau Gest, Bodhidharma (not very often), Bogo, Bogomil, etc.

Sometimes, though, I just call him Hellboy.

Note: meaningful social commentary resumes next time around. Maybe. 

Introducing Bo

We interrupt Goat Rope's regularly scheduled programming to introduce the latest addition to our menagerie, Bo, a three month old boxer rescue puppy. In the words of Goat Rope's official movie, i.e. The Big Lebowski, sometime's there's a man...

A meme is born

For someone who has been blogging for several years, I'm pretty behind on social media. One thing I have recently resolved to do is to learn to make memes for Facebook and such. I mean hard hitting social justice memes. But today, just to see if I could make one at all, I resorted to a gratuitous animal picture of Edith and her toys. Hard hitting social meme content to come. Just probably not today.

THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMMM. Here's more on possible conflicts of interest involving drug companies and WV's attorney general.

ANNALS OF URBAN AGRICULTURE. A while back the city of Charleston WV passed an ordnance allowing city residents to own chickens and such. Here's one nice success story. Meanwhile, the hens at Goat Rope Farm have either permanently retired from egg production or have gone on strike.

Much diminished

One annual ritual at Goat Rope Farm this time of year is the shaving of Arpad, our Great Pyrenees security chief. After a winter of running around, barking all night in the woods and brambles and eating rotten deer carcasses and getting sick--in the line of duty--his coat is rather nasty. Plus, he's so hot that all he wants to do is lay around.

We take him to a place with a dog whispering groomer who does the job, which usually takes more than two hours. When it's all done, we learn that he is mostly composed of hair and the summer product is a fraction of the dog he used to be.

Although I'm sure the procedure makes him more comfortable, he seems self conscious for the first week or so and doesn't like to make public appearances. I hope he won't mind this exception...

Dogs and cats living together...mass hysteria

If I was going to write a book about the intimate relationship between humans and their dogs and cats, I hope I would have thought of a title like Citizen Canine. The link has a bit about the book and an interview with the author.

Here's something practical I got from the article: next time my cat complains, a pretty much daily event, I'm going to tell him how lucky he is not to have lived in the Middle Ages.

CLEARING A HURDLE. Here's the New Yorker on the Affordable Care Act.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, here's Dean Baker on the same.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

In lieu of a serious post...

...how about another gratuitous animal picture? This photo, taken this weekend shows Arpad, our Great Pyreness and official People's Commissar of Public Safety at Goat Rope Farm, with his latest treasure find, to wit a decomposing deer hide.

I don't presume to channel what he's thinking, but if I had to hazard a guess, it might be something like:  "Deer season--the gift that keeps on giving." For him, it's yet another proof of the generosity and benevolence of the universe.

And, while I love him dearly, at times like these I'm glad he's mostly an outside dog.

SPEAKING OF DOGS, Paul Krugman wonders here whether Ayn Rand devotee Paul Ryan's recent musings on "inner city" folks might be a "racial dog whistle." My only reservation about this conclusion is that I thought dog whistles were supposed to be so subtle that humans couldn't detect them.

SO WHERE WERE DOGS in the infinitesimally short explosion that gave birth to the universe? I'm guessing they were very tiny. And well insulated.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

That's my baby

Arpad, Great Pyrenees security chief at Goat Rope Farm, in warmer times, with a friend. Or part of one.

One of the things I admire about Arpad and the whole Great Pyrenees breed is that they are like the ideal martial artist, protective but not the least aggressive, potentially as dangerous as a gun at close range but generally unaware of and unconcerned about the fact and not in the least inclined to show it.

Most of the time, Arpad is a genial goof and occasional low thief. If we had fair elections on our dead end holler road, he's be a shoo-in for mayor.

His supreme coolness often manifests itself when we go on a 5 to 6 mile loop walk along neighboring ridges. Up at the top, there are a couple of mean Rottweilers who bark at us and threaten to attack.

Arpad generally places himself casually between us and them but considers them so far beneath him that he makes no eye contact and does not acknowledge their existence in any way. Until, that is, he gets to the end of their territory, at which point he generally leaves a massive if fragrant calling car.

The Pod abides.

Bad to the bone

Arpad, the Great Pyrenees security chief at Goat Rope Farm, loves deer season and everything after. Here he is with another example of what he views as the generosity of the universe.

The question, as I see it, is is he just trying to get a leg up in the world or has he put his foot in his mouth?

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE WV LEGISLATURE, interesting things are happening. A bill that would create a Future Fund or mineral trust fund, something El Cabrero has worked on for a few years, looks good in the state senate. It has 30 sponsors and there are only 33 senators. A minimum wage bill has moved from a house committee and seems to have strong support (even some who hate it are afraid to vote against it). And a bill that would promote physical activity in schools looks pretty good at the moment. The bill, called Move to Improve, is a companion piece to last year's Feed to Achieve Act.

Lots of other stuff too, but it'll keep.

Serious stuff tomorrow

There is plenty of serious stuff to blog about...and I intend to resume doing so. Tomorrow.

For tonight, at least it's nice to live in a world where cats and dogs, occasionally, lie down in peace together.

At Goat Rope Farm, it's been a tough week for guinea babies. Out of 11, only two survived. We're not sure whether the temperature or the food was wrong. The remainders seem to be thriving now on something like the Atkins diet, which requires some of us to go out and dig grubs and such with some regularity.

Finally, after going to Ohio last week to attend a Paw Paw Festival, we learned enough to spot this native fruit on our own land, where it turns out we have several hundred little trees.

Win some, lose some, start again. So it goes.